Some notes from a recent gathering of the local cinephile society….
Remember the “Twilight Zone” episode where Dennis Weaver has the same dream each night – he’s on trial for murder, convicted, condemned to death and sent to the electric chair, but just as the switch is pulled, he wakes up, terrified?
And each time he has the dream, the cast of characters is jumbled – the guy who’s the judge now, for instance, was a death row inmate last time?
The 20th Century Fox musicals from the late 1930s and early 1940s are a little like that, though the casting doesn’t change that dramatically, and as far as I can recall, Don Ameche never went to the electric chair. (Of course, he did have the foresight to invent the telephone so the governor could call and commute his sentence.)
The Fox musicals of that era seem like permutations of each other, as if a casting director, informed that a new film needed X number of stars, donned a blindfold and tossed darts at a wall containing pictures of Betty Grable, Alice Faye, Cesar Romero, Don Ameche, Tyrone Power, John Payne, Carmen Miranda and Sonja Henie, among others, and when the requisite number of darts had been thrown, you had your cast.
Which is why I have a hard time telling these films apart. (And, to be honest, I haven’t seen many of them.)
Anyway, for “Tin Pan Alley” (1940), the casting director’s mini-missiles scored direct hits on Alice Faye, John Payne, Betty Grable and Jack Oakie.
And it’s a pleasant enough film, even if you’ve seen the plot before. (Heck, I’ll bet the audiences who saw it the first time had seen the plot at least a few times before. And they probably would see it at least a few times again.)
Alice Faye and Betty Grable are sisters who have a singing act. Alice loves composer John Payne, who might well love her back, but for most of the film he seems to love himself a lot more as he does his best to get the attention of the Powers That Be of the early-century music world. Unfortunately, he’s such a heel that he’s more likely to get mash notes from Dr. Scholl.
Payne’s partner is Jack Oakie, a comedian whose name isn’t well known these days, which is too bad because he’s quite good – kind of like that annoying colleague or neighbor who thinks he’s funny, except that Oakie really is funny, and he knows how far he can push things without becoming annoying.
The music is a pleasant mix of vintage tunes and newer material, especially “You Say the Sweetest Things, Baby,” by Harry Warren and Mack Gordon. It’s really catchy tune, and it’s performed so many times that in order not to catch it, you’d have to be the butterfingers of all time. (I can hear the studio execs now: “We paid good money for that tune, and the audience is going to hear it! And hear it! And hear it…..”)
One nice surprise: Elisha Cook Jr., pre-“Maltese Falcon” and the other psychopaths he specialized in, playing a composer and showing a subtle flair for comedy. (Which is ironic, I suppose, because it might have done a world of good for John Payne’s egotistical composer to have a roscoe shoved up his nostrils. Or elsewhere.)
Before the film: “Hollywood Rhythm,” a Paramount short subject from 1934, featuring Jack Oakie and songwriters Harry Revel and Mack Gordon – yes, the same Mack Gordon who co-wrote “You Say the Sweetest Things, Baby.”
Gordon and Revel’s songs include “Have You Ever Seen a Dream Walking?” and “Stay as Sweet as You Are.” Chances are that if you grew up in a TV market that showed a lot of Paramount’s Popeye cartoons from the 1930s (in my youth, one station’s slogan might as well have been “All Popeye All the Time”), you’ve heard these and other Gordon-Revel songs as background music.
The featurette shows the two as they are supposedly composing a new song, “Take a Number from One to Ten.” They seem like OK guys, but as I watched the short I once again wondered why so many of the composers of this country’s classic romantic tunes in person seem about as romantic as your average shoe salesman. (“Would you like to see something in B flat, three-quarter time?”)
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Monday, November 9, 2009
Another Rx, another show
I well remember my acting days.
That’s chiefly because there’s not much to remember and because I’ve never really been an actor.
In high school, my fellow students and I would sometimes perform plays during English class, just sitting at our desks. And I enjoyed that.
And I’ve sometimes wished I’d been born long enough ago to be an actor during the Golden Age of Radio, where all you had to do was stand at a mike and read from a script – no memorization required! (The older I get, the more difficult it is for me to memorize lines – or anything else.)
Now … where was I?
Oh, yes, acting.
Although I enjoyed reading parts from my desk in school, and although I appeared to be fairly decent at it (though it’s hard to know for sure as the school’s policy strictly prohibited the throwing of foodstuffs), when it came to acting on stage, where I had to know what to say, when to say it, where to move, when to move, whether to say something and move at the same time without bumping into someone or something ….
You get the idea. Let’s just say that if Stanislavski had directed me, his book would have been titled “An Actor Despairs.”
Do I ever get a hankering to practice the thespian craft these days?
Sure.
But when I need to test my acting chops, I don’t go to the Actors Studio. (Not that I haven’t tried, but as far as I know, James Lipton still has an injunction against me.)
Nor do I visit a community theater group to “show them how it’s done.”
No, when I want a quick workout, there’s one place where I can always go:
The prescription counter at the neighborhood drugstore.
Every once in a while I go there, and we do a very brief one-act play. There’s little in the way of blocking, not a lot to memorize, and it’s the same thing every time – kind of a pharmaceutical Kabuki.
It goes something like this (as comedians used to say)….
CLERK: Name?
ME: Murphy, Mark.
(CLERK walks over to a set of shelves and spends up to 20 seconds looking around before turning to me.)
CLERK: Did you just drop this off?
ME: No, I called it in to your automated phone line yesterday morning.
(CLERK leaves the shelves, walks over to a computer, presses some keys and looks concerned. Then the CLERK walks over to a box, searches that, talks one or two people, goes over to a second set of shelves and searches that, then returns to the first set of shelves and searches the exact same section that was searched before.)
CLERK (with a note of triumph that would make Archimedes bow his head in shame): Got it!
… This is basically it, though the script does allow for minor improvisations, bits of business, etc. For example, if the clerk is a guy he might address me as “buddy,” even though calling our relationship an acquaintance would be at most somewhat of a stretch.
I wish I could say that we adjourned to Sardi’s afterward to await the reviews, but one is so pressed for time these days, although once in a while the head pharmacist does have us stay for a bit so he can give us notes.
But as it is, it’s a heady enough experience – the roar of the Bengay, the smell of the Muzak!
That’s chiefly because there’s not much to remember and because I’ve never really been an actor.
In high school, my fellow students and I would sometimes perform plays during English class, just sitting at our desks. And I enjoyed that.
And I’ve sometimes wished I’d been born long enough ago to be an actor during the Golden Age of Radio, where all you had to do was stand at a mike and read from a script – no memorization required! (The older I get, the more difficult it is for me to memorize lines – or anything else.)
Now … where was I?
Oh, yes, acting.
Although I enjoyed reading parts from my desk in school, and although I appeared to be fairly decent at it (though it’s hard to know for sure as the school’s policy strictly prohibited the throwing of foodstuffs), when it came to acting on stage, where I had to know what to say, when to say it, where to move, when to move, whether to say something and move at the same time without bumping into someone or something ….
You get the idea. Let’s just say that if Stanislavski had directed me, his book would have been titled “An Actor Despairs.”
Do I ever get a hankering to practice the thespian craft these days?
Sure.
But when I need to test my acting chops, I don’t go to the Actors Studio. (Not that I haven’t tried, but as far as I know, James Lipton still has an injunction against me.)
Nor do I visit a community theater group to “show them how it’s done.”
No, when I want a quick workout, there’s one place where I can always go:
The prescription counter at the neighborhood drugstore.
Every once in a while I go there, and we do a very brief one-act play. There’s little in the way of blocking, not a lot to memorize, and it’s the same thing every time – kind of a pharmaceutical Kabuki.
It goes something like this (as comedians used to say)….
CLERK: Name?
ME: Murphy, Mark.
(CLERK walks over to a set of shelves and spends up to 20 seconds looking around before turning to me.)
CLERK: Did you just drop this off?
ME: No, I called it in to your automated phone line yesterday morning.
(CLERK leaves the shelves, walks over to a computer, presses some keys and looks concerned. Then the CLERK walks over to a box, searches that, talks one or two people, goes over to a second set of shelves and searches that, then returns to the first set of shelves and searches the exact same section that was searched before.)
CLERK (with a note of triumph that would make Archimedes bow his head in shame): Got it!
… This is basically it, though the script does allow for minor improvisations, bits of business, etc. For example, if the clerk is a guy he might address me as “buddy,” even though calling our relationship an acquaintance would be at most somewhat of a stretch.
I wish I could say that we adjourned to Sardi’s afterward to await the reviews, but one is so pressed for time these days, although once in a while the head pharmacist does have us stay for a bit so he can give us notes.
But as it is, it’s a heady enough experience – the roar of the Bengay, the smell of the Muzak!
Sunday, October 25, 2009
At the (old) movies: 'White Heat'
The local cinephile society shows a lot of forgotten films, but “White Heat” (Warner Bros., 1949), presented recently, certainly doesn’t fall into that category.
The James Cagney film, directed by Raoul Walsh, is so well-known that it’s hard to find anything new to talk about. Who doesn’t know about killer Cody Jarrett, his catchphrase – “Top of the World, Ma!” – and his odd relationship with his mother, played by Margaret Wycherly?
And that literally explosive ending.
The film still holds up, still moves along quite nicely.
But there’s one aspect of it that perhaps has not been mentioned enough:
Edmond O’Brien.
O’Brien plays the cop who pretends to be a convict and wins Jarrett’s confidence in prison. It’s a solid performance by an actor who I fear has been overlooked in recent years.
Perhaps I feel this way because I’ve also recently heard some episodes of the radio series “Yours Truly, Johnny Dollar” that featured O’Brien. He was one of several actors who portrayed the lead character, a crime-solving insurance investigator "with the action-packed expense account." O’Brien played Dollar as a tough guy who, under all the toughness, was a bit of a softie – but just a bit.
O’Brien, particularly in the 1950s, was a master when it came to playing guys who were hard-boiled but not glamorous, and maybe not all that heroic. The typical O’Brien character was not larger than life; he was more like you and me, and sometimes maybe uncomfortably so. (I’m particularly thinking of his Oscar-winning portrayal of Oscar Muldoon, the glib but craven press agent in “The Barefoot Contessa.”)
Then there’s “The Comedian,” a “Playhouse 90” episode (written by Rod Serling from a story by Ernest Lehman), in which O’Brien plays Al Preston, a desperate TV comedy writer who steals material from another writer. (“The Comedian” used to be on VHS. I hope someday it’ll be on DVD, because it’s too good to miss, with other outstanding performances by Mickey Rooney, Kim Hunter and Mel Torme and direction by John Frankenheimer. All done on live TV, too.)
As O’Brien got older, his performances could go a little over the top, though sometimes endearingly so – I’m particularly thinking of the doomed senator in “Seven Days in May.”
I don’t know much about O’Brien as a person, but he seemed like the kind of actor who enjoyed acting and wasn’t in it just for the bucks.
And in “White Heat” he more than holds his own against Cagney.
Let’s not forget him.
The James Cagney film, directed by Raoul Walsh, is so well-known that it’s hard to find anything new to talk about. Who doesn’t know about killer Cody Jarrett, his catchphrase – “Top of the World, Ma!” – and his odd relationship with his mother, played by Margaret Wycherly?
And that literally explosive ending.
The film still holds up, still moves along quite nicely.
But there’s one aspect of it that perhaps has not been mentioned enough:
Edmond O’Brien.
O’Brien plays the cop who pretends to be a convict and wins Jarrett’s confidence in prison. It’s a solid performance by an actor who I fear has been overlooked in recent years.
Perhaps I feel this way because I’ve also recently heard some episodes of the radio series “Yours Truly, Johnny Dollar” that featured O’Brien. He was one of several actors who portrayed the lead character, a crime-solving insurance investigator "with the action-packed expense account." O’Brien played Dollar as a tough guy who, under all the toughness, was a bit of a softie – but just a bit.
O’Brien, particularly in the 1950s, was a master when it came to playing guys who were hard-boiled but not glamorous, and maybe not all that heroic. The typical O’Brien character was not larger than life; he was more like you and me, and sometimes maybe uncomfortably so. (I’m particularly thinking of his Oscar-winning portrayal of Oscar Muldoon, the glib but craven press agent in “The Barefoot Contessa.”)
Then there’s “The Comedian,” a “Playhouse 90” episode (written by Rod Serling from a story by Ernest Lehman), in which O’Brien plays Al Preston, a desperate TV comedy writer who steals material from another writer. (“The Comedian” used to be on VHS. I hope someday it’ll be on DVD, because it’s too good to miss, with other outstanding performances by Mickey Rooney, Kim Hunter and Mel Torme and direction by John Frankenheimer. All done on live TV, too.)
As O’Brien got older, his performances could go a little over the top, though sometimes endearingly so – I’m particularly thinking of the doomed senator in “Seven Days in May.”
I don’t know much about O’Brien as a person, but he seemed like the kind of actor who enjoyed acting and wasn’t in it just for the bucks.
And in “White Heat” he more than holds his own against Cagney.
Let’s not forget him.
Soupy Sales
A lot of kids my age grew up watching Soupy Sales.
I wasn’t one of them.
This was simply because Soupy’s show (somehow I can’t refer to him by his last name) wasn’t shown in my area.
I did, occasionally, see Soupy on other shows. He struck me as a nice enough guy, though maybe a bit too silly and corny for my taste.
But I didn’t dislike him; he seemed to know he was silly and corny – he never pretended to be Noel Coward – and maybe that was part, or most, of his charm.
And as I got older and watched him on game shows, I began to fully appreciate him, to become aware of something that I don’t think has been pointed out very often, if at all:
Unlike some comics, Soupy, who got his start in radio, was a total pro as a broadcaster, knowing when to crack wise and when to play the game, never hogging the spotlight, looking out for the needs of the show first.
Case in point: an episode of the syndicated, post-John Daly version of “What's My Line.” The mystery guest is Rodney Dangerfield. Someone (Soupy, I think) guesses him right away. This means that the host has some time to fill.
Unfortunately, the host is rather awkward with show biz folks and doesn't seem to know how to interact with Rodney, and Soupy, sensing this awkwardness, jumps in -- not with a joke of his own, but with a setup line for Rodney (something like, "Rodney, how's you're wife been?") and Dangerfield is off and running for a very funny couple of minutes.
I remember thinking that this was a classy thing to do, and thinking that Soupy Sales, despite the many-times-warmed-over gags, was a very classy guy.
I still think so.
I wasn’t one of them.
This was simply because Soupy’s show (somehow I can’t refer to him by his last name) wasn’t shown in my area.
I did, occasionally, see Soupy on other shows. He struck me as a nice enough guy, though maybe a bit too silly and corny for my taste.
But I didn’t dislike him; he seemed to know he was silly and corny – he never pretended to be Noel Coward – and maybe that was part, or most, of his charm.
And as I got older and watched him on game shows, I began to fully appreciate him, to become aware of something that I don’t think has been pointed out very often, if at all:
Unlike some comics, Soupy, who got his start in radio, was a total pro as a broadcaster, knowing when to crack wise and when to play the game, never hogging the spotlight, looking out for the needs of the show first.
Case in point: an episode of the syndicated, post-John Daly version of “What's My Line.” The mystery guest is Rodney Dangerfield. Someone (Soupy, I think) guesses him right away. This means that the host has some time to fill.
Unfortunately, the host is rather awkward with show biz folks and doesn't seem to know how to interact with Rodney, and Soupy, sensing this awkwardness, jumps in -- not with a joke of his own, but with a setup line for Rodney (something like, "Rodney, how's you're wife been?") and Dangerfield is off and running for a very funny couple of minutes.
I remember thinking that this was a classy thing to do, and thinking that Soupy Sales, despite the many-times-warmed-over gags, was a very classy guy.
I still think so.
Monday, October 19, 2009
At the (old) movies: 'Thirteen Hours by Air'
Some notes from a recent meeting of the local cinephile society:
“Thirteen Hours by Air” (Paramount, 1936) stars Fred MacMurray as an airline pilot. This was early in his career, when he was in his devil-may-care mode – far different from the roles he played later in his career, Geritol-may-care mode.
If you only know MacMurray from “My Three Sons,” you should give his early films a try. Instead of just reacting to the latest antics of Chip, Ernie and Robbie (not to mention Uncle Charley’s sputterings), he is suave, charming, knowing, even cocky, but not in an off-putting way. Years later he would put a darker spin on this character as Walter Neff in “Double Indemnity,” but here his goal is not murdering anyone’s husband but merely getting his plane to California on time.
But although MacMurray’s character doesn’t have his mind on murder, he definitely fancies himself as a lady killer, and the quarry in question here is passenger Joan Bennett.
The film is a mix of comedy and suspense, the latter provided by two mysterious characters – one (played by Alan Baxter) who definitely seems up to no good. (Was Baxter ever up to any good? ) The other character (played by Brian Donlevy, minus mustache, and, like MacMurray, just starting out) may or may not be a doctor.
Much of the comedy is provided by Zasu Pitts, who is in charge of a bratty kid portrayed by Benny Bartlett. I like Zasu, but a little of her can go a long way, and here her character is on a cross-country plane trip, so I could have used a little relief from the comedy, though her airsickness scene did make me laugh.
The airplane and airport sets seem realistic (or at least not very fanciful), and there’s a doozy of a sequence set in a snowstorm. But if you’re looking for hyperrealism, book another flight: At one point here, MacMurray throws a gun out of an airplane door while the plane is in flight, and in another scene, his co-pilot – also in midflight – opens his window to scrape some ice off.
Then again, this was made during the Depression, so maybe they couldn’t afford air pressure.
Before the film, a Bugs Bunny cartoon, “Hare Lift,” in which the wascally wabbit does battle with Yosemite Sam on a plane that’s out of control.
It’s always great to see these Warner cartoons on a big screen, with an appreciative audience. It’s the way they were meant to be seen, and director Friz Freleng’s timing of Warren Foster’s gags is impeccable. I think one reason so many Warners cartoons hold up so well is that they had to be a certain length, and every foot of film, every frame, had to count, as they do here.
And only Bugs could get away with stopping the crashing plane at the last possible moment and telling us that this could be done with no sweat because the plane had “air brakes.” He tells us this with a look that almost dares us to groan, implying that if we did groan, we wouldn’t be cool like Bugs. And who doesn't want to be cool like Bugs?
“Thirteen Hours by Air” (Paramount, 1936) stars Fred MacMurray as an airline pilot. This was early in his career, when he was in his devil-may-care mode – far different from the roles he played later in his career, Geritol-may-care mode.
If you only know MacMurray from “My Three Sons,” you should give his early films a try. Instead of just reacting to the latest antics of Chip, Ernie and Robbie (not to mention Uncle Charley’s sputterings), he is suave, charming, knowing, even cocky, but not in an off-putting way. Years later he would put a darker spin on this character as Walter Neff in “Double Indemnity,” but here his goal is not murdering anyone’s husband but merely getting his plane to California on time.
But although MacMurray’s character doesn’t have his mind on murder, he definitely fancies himself as a lady killer, and the quarry in question here is passenger Joan Bennett.
The film is a mix of comedy and suspense, the latter provided by two mysterious characters – one (played by Alan Baxter) who definitely seems up to no good. (Was Baxter ever up to any good? ) The other character (played by Brian Donlevy, minus mustache, and, like MacMurray, just starting out) may or may not be a doctor.
Much of the comedy is provided by Zasu Pitts, who is in charge of a bratty kid portrayed by Benny Bartlett. I like Zasu, but a little of her can go a long way, and here her character is on a cross-country plane trip, so I could have used a little relief from the comedy, though her airsickness scene did make me laugh.
The airplane and airport sets seem realistic (or at least not very fanciful), and there’s a doozy of a sequence set in a snowstorm. But if you’re looking for hyperrealism, book another flight: At one point here, MacMurray throws a gun out of an airplane door while the plane is in flight, and in another scene, his co-pilot – also in midflight – opens his window to scrape some ice off.
Then again, this was made during the Depression, so maybe they couldn’t afford air pressure.
Before the film, a Bugs Bunny cartoon, “Hare Lift,” in which the wascally wabbit does battle with Yosemite Sam on a plane that’s out of control.
It’s always great to see these Warner cartoons on a big screen, with an appreciative audience. It’s the way they were meant to be seen, and director Friz Freleng’s timing of Warren Foster’s gags is impeccable. I think one reason so many Warners cartoons hold up so well is that they had to be a certain length, and every foot of film, every frame, had to count, as they do here.
And only Bugs could get away with stopping the crashing plane at the last possible moment and telling us that this could be done with no sweat because the plane had “air brakes.” He tells us this with a look that almost dares us to groan, implying that if we did groan, we wouldn’t be cool like Bugs. And who doesn't want to be cool like Bugs?
Saturday, October 17, 2009
And the award goes to ... a friend of mine
If you look at my blogroll, you'll see a link to the Web site of Julie Hyzy, mystery writer.
Last I looked, Julie hadn't updated her blog since she announced that she was on her way to Bouchercon, the top annual gathering of mystery authors and fans, being held this year in Indianapolis. (I've been to a couple of these things, but I didn't make it this year.)
I suppose the key reason Julie hasn't updated her blog is that despite recent advances in technology, there is currently no Internet service on Cloud Nine.
Which is where Julie is currently residing, having just won the Anthony Award for Best Original Paperback for her book "State of the Onion."
This is a big deal, folks.
"State of the Onion" is the first in a series of novels about the adventures (or misadventures) of Olivia Paras, a chef at the White House.
I first met Julie and her friend and fellow author, Michael A. Black, whose blogroll is also on this blog, at a Bouchercon in Toronto. Since then, Julie has not only read my few published stories (with apparently no deleterious effects) but has been cheering me on.
You couldn't meet a nicer person than Julie, but if you can't meet Julie, you can do the next best thing: Get one of her books ("Hail to the Chef" is also available, and "Eggsecutive Orders" is due out next year) and meet Olivia Paras, who sounds a lot like -- suspiciously like -- Julie. But hey, what's wrong with that? Didn't Flaubert say he was Madame Bovary?
And where is his Anthony Award?
Last I looked, Julie hadn't updated her blog since she announced that she was on her way to Bouchercon, the top annual gathering of mystery authors and fans, being held this year in Indianapolis. (I've been to a couple of these things, but I didn't make it this year.)
I suppose the key reason Julie hasn't updated her blog is that despite recent advances in technology, there is currently no Internet service on Cloud Nine.
Which is where Julie is currently residing, having just won the Anthony Award for Best Original Paperback for her book "State of the Onion."
This is a big deal, folks.
"State of the Onion" is the first in a series of novels about the adventures (or misadventures) of Olivia Paras, a chef at the White House.
I first met Julie and her friend and fellow author, Michael A. Black, whose blogroll is also on this blog, at a Bouchercon in Toronto. Since then, Julie has not only read my few published stories (with apparently no deleterious effects) but has been cheering me on.
You couldn't meet a nicer person than Julie, but if you can't meet Julie, you can do the next best thing: Get one of her books ("Hail to the Chef" is also available, and "Eggsecutive Orders" is due out next year) and meet Olivia Paras, who sounds a lot like -- suspiciously like -- Julie. But hey, what's wrong with that? Didn't Flaubert say he was Madame Bovary?
And where is his Anthony Award?
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
If you act now, they'll throw in a preposition
A magazine I subscribe to -- a magazine for writers, no less -- sent me a notice today, stating that if I don't renew ASAP, my subscription will expire.
A sign at the top of the notice -- boxed and in larger type -- says:
Choose Your Bonus Renewal Savings
-- Now -- To Avoid A Lapse Service!
A sign at the top of the notice -- boxed and in larger type -- says:
Choose Your Bonus Renewal Savings
-- Now -- To Avoid A Lapse Service!
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